


help the medicine go down

by owlsii



Series: weirdness [1]
Category: Mary Poppins (Movies)
Genre: Autism, Autistic Character, Autistic Jack, Bert is the best dad, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Nonverbal Jack, Self-Harmful Stimming, Stimming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-01-31 07:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18586702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlsii/pseuds/owlsii
Summary: He sits down across from Jack, mind still whirring. He doesn’t have any parents, he can’t speak, and Bert doesn’t want to call itstrange, exactly, but the kid’s behavior is definitely not normal. Is there anywhere for him to go? Bert doesn’t want to give him up to an orphanage, but he also doesn’t know anyone who would be willing to take him in.Jack takes the cup with both hands and looks up, like he’s asking permission. He’s so polite. Bert takes a long drink from his own cup so the kid can’t see his eyes watering.{ takes place when jack is 10y/o, and the first fic in the series! no prior reading required. }





	1. runaway

**Author's Note:**

> explanation of the tags/trigger warnings, if you need it:  
> \- there isn't a direct scene where it happens, but after the first scene it's implied that jack's parents died, and their death is referenced sometimes throughout the fic  
> \- jack scratches his arms when he's upset, but it's not completely intentional  
> \- jack has ptsd and in later chapters his symptoms might come up. i've done a bit of research but i don't have ptsd myself, so if you find something wrong with my writing of it, please tell me so i can fix it!
> 
> i'm finally publishing this fic after sitting on it because i want other people to know what the hell i'm talking about when i ramble about my headcanons for jack's backstory. i kinda know where i want this fic to go but i also don't, so it'll be a surprise for all of us

Jack is only ten years old.

“Mama?” he says quietly, tiptoeing into his parents’ room. It’s the middle of the night and his parents should be asleep. But his mama was coughing so loud he could hear it from his room. “P-Papa?”

His mama coughs again. It sounds wet. Jack doesn’t like that sound, because it means there’s blood, and blood makes him feel like crying. As if triggered by his mama, his papa starts coughing, harsh and quick. Jack starts, too, and now the three of them are a symphony of sickness. He feels weak and shaky. There’s a dark feeling in his chest.

“Mama, are you okay?” he whispers, his voice hoarse. He places his hands on the bed, ready to climb up, but her hand reaches out to stop him. He tries to ignore the dried blood on the pillow next to her mouth. She doesn’t say anything. “Papa, what’s wrong with Mama?”

He doesn’t say anything, either.

~

He doesn’t remember how long it takes for all these people to arrive. Everything has been a blur recently. The next morning he’d opened the door, and ever since, there’s been a flow of policemen and doctors and some orphanage official, everyone walking in and out. Jack hasn’t been alone in nearly two days and it’s eating away at him.

“Sweetie,” the orphanage lady (he doesn’t know her name, either because she never told him, or because he just didn’t care to remember) says in that tone of voice he hates. “We’re going to ask you again. How long were your parents sick before they died?”

Jack shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about his parents. He can’t think about his parents. If he does, he starts to breathe weird and his eyes glaze over, and the policemen don’t like it when he does that.

“You have to tell us, or you’ll be disciplined,” a policeman says gruffly, somewhere above him. Jack is sitting on his bed, which he doesn’t like, because he feels so small.

He inhales sharply at the mention of discipline, and it sends him into a coughing fit. The orphanage lady reaches for him, but he scrambles backwards and presses his back against the wall. He must look frightened, because she jumps back, eyes wide.

“If you can’t talk, we have to take you away. You need a doctor.” He can’t tell if that’s the orphanage lady, the policeman, or someone else. His mind is spinning and his surroundings feel blurry.

Jack shakes his head furiously. He doesn’t want to be taken away. He doesn’t need a doctor. He coughs again, shivering like a leaf.

“C’mere,” the policeman grunts and suddenly there’s a hand gripping tight on his shoulder.

Jack’s mind goes instantly blank and he squeezes his eyes shut, clawing at the policeman’s arm, screaming wordlessly, and he’s only thinking _let go let go LET GO LET GO LET GO—_

The grip loosens just enough for him to duck under the policeman’s arm. He avoids the orphanage lady’s grasp and runs out of the room. He slams the door shut behind him, which buys him enough time to slip into his parents’ room.

_I have to leave have to go can’t stay here_

Tears flood down his face as he stares at the bed, where his mama and papa still lay. He can hear the policeman and the orphanage lady calling his name in the hallway. Then the voice of another policeman joins in, and Jack sobs helplessly, scratching at his arms hard enough to leave marks. He just wants to stay with Mama and Papa. Why won’t they let him stay with Mama and Papa?

He can’t stay here if they’re going to keep asking questions and threatening to take him away. He can’t stay here if it means he’s going to have to see his parents being taken wherever people go when they—

Jack hiccups through his tears, barely able to breathe, and gives one last glance to his mama and papa.

They find the room empty, a necklace missing from the dressertop, and the window hanging open.

~

He’s shivering on the streets and a chimney sweep notices him, face hidden by his papa’s cap. There’s a silver chain tangled around his hand, and he’s gripping it tightly.

“What’s a kid like you doing out here, in the cold?” the chimney sweep asks, bending down to Jack’s level. Jack doesn’t run away. He wishes he could, but his legs would shake too much, and the sweep looks fit enough that he’d be able to catch Jack, anyway. “My name’s Bert. I promise I won’t do you any harm, kid, I just want to help.”

Jack doesn’t say anything, because he can’t. He hasn’t said a single word since that night. He curls up tighter against the brick wall, sniffling. He’s still weak, still sick. Bert hums for a few moments, a tune that sounds soothing, and then pulls out a piece of chalk.

“Can you write?” Bert asks.

Jack grips the chalk the wrong way and presses it against the sidewalk. All he manages are scribbles. Then, he concentrates, and slowly, nearly unintelligibly, writes _Jack_.

“Hey, Jack,” Bert says softly. Like a parent would. No one’s said his name like that since—

He drops the chalk.

“How’d you get out here?” Bert asks, handing him the chalk again. When he tries to write, his mind turns to static and all he manages are scribbles, so Bert suggests he draw. Jack likes that.

He draws two people, and a smaller one in between them. He draws a house around the smiling family. And then he scribbles over the two taller people. Bert’s face falls.

“You lost your parents,” Bert says slowly, when Jack is finished.

Jack nods and bites his lip. Bert studies him for a few moments. He’s skinny and small, which is only exaggerated by the adult-sized hat resting on his head. His shirt sleeves are pulled back a little, and Bert winces when he sees red scratches lining his skin. Then the silver chain catches his eye.

“What’ve you got there?” he asks, reaching for it. The move sets off something in Jack’s brain and he makes a whining noise that’s half a scream, hugging the object tighter. The chain swings and Bert sees that it’s two wedding rings strung together. He moves back, heart aching for Jack, who’s nearly hyperventilating with panic. “Sorry, kid.”

Jack calms down eventually, and that’s when Bert suggests that they both head back to his apartment for a cup of hot cocoa. Jack considers it for a few moments. He figures staying with a basically-stranger is better than wandering the streets, so he shakily stands up. He only takes a few steps before tripping and collapsing into Bert.

Bert nearly falls over, caught off-guard by the weight. The kid is weaker than he thought. He doesn’t want to know how long he was out here, or how long he’s gone without treatment for whatever sickness he has. “Let’s get to my place. I’ll take care of you, Jack.”

Jack is still shivering and his legs are still shaking. But he’s safe now. He quietly hums something that resembles a ‘thank you’ and grips Bert’s hand tightly.


	2. bert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i already had most of this chapter pre-written and i couldn't resist sharing it
> 
> warnings for this chapter: jack has a nightmare. it's about his parents. there's no direct death scene but it's pretty gloomy and mentions sickness a lot. he also has a brief shutdown (aka, the opposite of a meltdown)

Bert’s apartment is relatively small, but it has enough room for the two of them. Jack shakes his head furiously and refuses to move when he first walks in. Alarm bells start ringing in his mind, _new place new place new place_ , and it’s not until Bert lets him look into every room that he finally relaxes.

(“Checking for monsters?” Bert had joked. The tiny twitch of a not-quite-smile on Jack’s lips was all he needed.)

Now Jack’s sitting at the kitchen table, fidgeting and watching Bert make hot cocoa.

“Here you go, kid,” he says, setting two mugs down. He sits down across from Jack, mind still whirring. He doesn’t have any parents, he can’t speak, and Bert doesn’t want to call it _strange_ , exactly, but the kid’s behavior is definitely not normal. Is there anywhere for him to go? Bert doesn’t want to give him up to an orphanage, but he also doesn’t know anyone who would be willing to take him in.

Jack takes the cup with both hands and looks up, like he’s asking permission. He’s so polite. Bert takes a long drink from his own cup so the kid can’t see his eyes watering. Then he clears his throat. “Go ahead, kid. It should be cool by now.”

Jack lifts the cup to his mouth and takes a slow, careful sip.

Suddenly the mug cracks on the wood, and a puddle of hot cocoa spreads across the table.

Jack is wheezing and from his facial expression, it looks like the drink was too hot— but Bert knows it wasn’t.

“Alright, Jack, calm down,” Bert says, trying to hide the shakiness of his voice. He grabs a towel and hastily spreads it over the spill. Then he goes right to Jack, who looks like he’s about to cry. “Did you spill any on yourself?”

Jack shakes his head. He wants to say, _it was too hot and now my tongue hurts_ , but he can’t.

“Was it too hot?” Bert asks. Jack nods. “Well, don’t worry, I’m not mad that you dropped it.”

Jack looks away and starts scratching his arms. _I’m still sorry and now I’m embarrassed and the heat surprised me and my tongue still hurts._

“Don’t do that,” Bert says, a bit harshly. Jack looks at him fearfully. “I just don’t want you hurtin’ yourself. You seem pretty scratched up already, don’t want you makin’ it worse. I don’t think I have any bandages, but tomorrow morning we can go to the store and I’ll get some for your arms.”

Jack’s heart starts racing at the very mention of going to the store. Going to the store means leaving Bert’s apartment, which means walking somewhere new, which means meeting new people, which means everything is going to be unfamiliar—

“I can go alone,” Bert says, seeing his distressed look and interrupting his thoughts. “And you can stay here. I should get some medicine, too. You’re still sick, you know.”

Jack shakes his head as if to argue, but the sneeze he gives afterwards doesn’t help his case. Bert laughs, and Jack, for the first time, smiles.

~

“This is my guest room,” Bert says, standing in the doorway. “It’s not very big, but neither is any other room in here, I suppose.”

Jack shuffles over to the bed and sits down, rubbing a hand over the soft covers. Bert starts rummaging through the drawers while Jack unties his shoes.

“I dunno about pajamas that would fit you, but I have a lotta old shirts you could wear,” he offers, holding one up. Bert’s clothes aren’t outrageously large, but compared to Jack, the shirt looks like it’d go down to his knees. Bert doesn’t want to assume, but for a brief moment he worries if Jack’s parents fed him enough. He’s so small and scrawny. Maybe that’s just how he is.

Jack takes the shirt and nods instead of saying ‘thank you’ but Bert gets what he means anyway. Bert cleans up the kitchen while he changes.

“Chim chiminey, chim chiminey, chim chim cher-ee,” he sings quietly to himself as he washes the mugs. “A sweep is as lucky as lucky can be!”

After a few minutes, he goes back to the guest room and knocks on the door. It opens, and he’s greeted with Jack, wearing Bert’s old shirt, his cap, and with his necklace tangled around his hand.

“Time for bed, then!” Bert says with sort-of-faked cheerfulness. He tucks Jack in gently, noticing how slow and cautious the kid is being. As he steps towards the lightswitch, Jack moves to take his hat off. “You don’t hafta take that off if you don’t want to, kid. I don’t mind.”

A look of relief flickers over his face and then he settles in, curling up underneath the blankets. For as anxious and alert as he’s seemed all evening, he falls right asleep, breathing evenly by the time Bert shuts the lights off.

Bert has his hand on the doorknob, gazing into the nearly-dark room. He sighs to himself, frustrated and tired and angry, but not at Jack. He’s frustrated at the people who he knows walk by the place he found Jack every day, who probably saw the poor kid and didn’t help. He’s tired at the sickness that’s been spreading around lately, the sickness that probably killed the kid’s parents. He’s angry at the universe, at the world, for hurting this boy so badly and so early.

“I could really use your help right about now, Mary,” he whispers, and then closes the door.

~

“Aw, pobrecito, tienes un fiebre,” Mama says sweetly.

“Nuh-uh,” Jack replies matter-of-factly, despite the fact that his mama’s hand is warm against his forehead. He does _not_ have a fever.

“Sí, tienes un fiebre,” Papa says. Jack pouts. “Or, perhaps you don’t. I suppose you will have to go to school after all, mijo.”

Jack’s mouth drops open, immediately regretting his denial, and both of his parents laugh. Both of his parents—

Both of his parents are in bed with a fever that won’t go down, and the doctor makes Jack leave the room but Jack can hear him faintly muffled through the door, explaining to his mama and papa how serious this sickness is. Jack feels himself getting weaker every day but doesn’t tell the doctor because he doesn’t want to hear it directed at him, he doesn’t want to hear his health compared with his even-sicker parents.

Reality twists and so does Jack’s stomach, because now he’s laying in between his parents and they’re so pale, so weak, so quiet, why couldn’t it have just been a tiny fever? Jack starts to cry for his parents but something seems wrong, he doesn’t remember crying this hard, something isn’t right. Something isn’t—

Something isn’t working and the medicine is losing its effect. The doctor says Jack needs to stay away, but how can he, when his parents need him? Jack stays. He’ll always stay. Jack’s crying again, in the hallway outside his parents’ room, because he _didn’t_ stay, wait a minute, what’s happening? Of course he’s staying, of course, he’s still here, swiping the necklace from the dressertop that they took off the night before it happened, he’s still here, pushing open the window and feeling the cool air bite his skin, he’s still here, he’s still here, he’s still, will always be, here—

“I’m here!” someone that sounds like his papa is saying, but the accent is different, something is different, but it’s too dark for him to tell. “Jack, I’m right here, please wake up.”

Jack’s breathing hard and he’s clutching onto someone’s arm for dear life, tears are streaming down his face, and it’s the middle of the night and he’s... oh. He’s at Bert’s house, it’s Bert he’s clinging to, it’s Bert’s bed he fell asleep in.

Still sobbing, he clenches and unclenches his hand and then makes a motion like he’s writing.

“D’you want me to get you some paper?” Bert asks. Jack nods.

The one minute Bert is gone gives Jack time to calm down, if just a little bit. He rewraps the necklace around his hand.

“Here you go.”

He takes the paper and pen and scrawls out _nightmare_ in messy handwriting. Then he adds _about my parents_ and even though the room is mostly dark, he can see Bert’s face soften.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he says quietly. They sit in silence for a while. Jack puts the paper on the bedside table and then rubs the edge of the blanket. “Can you go back to sleep? It’s only been a few hours.”

Jack shrugs, because he really doesn’t know.

“If you have another nightmare, I’ll be here.” Bert pats the bed awkwardly and then walks to the door. “G’night, Jack.”

Jack nods. He doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

~

The next morning, Bert comes back from the store with a bag full of items. He dramatically places them on the kitchen table like they're delicate golden trophies, which makes Jack smile.

The first is a sketchbook and a pencil. "So you can talk to me without, y'know, talkin' to me," Bert explains. The first thing written in it is _thank you._

The second is a box of medicine, which makes Jack fidget and look purposefully in the other direction. Bert shoves it into the back of a cabinet and reminds himself to make a list of what might make the kid nervous.

The third is bandages. Jack says he doesn't need them because he's not bleeding anymore, but Bert points out the newer scratches could get infected.

So now they're sitting across from each other, Jack squirming in his seat.

"I'm gonna have to, but I'll try not to touch you too much," Bert says. Jack nods stiffly. "If you get uncomfortable, start shakin' your head and I'll stop, alright?"

The moment Bert's hands touch his skin, Jack's mind turns to static. It's a familiar feeling. Usually when this happens, Jack screams and cries and scratches his arms, but right now he's too exhausted for that. Time passes, he's not sure how much.

"You alright?" Bert says. Jack feels himself nod. Slowly. Bert switches to his other arm and his eyes glaze over.

He's tired. He's so tired.

"Jack?"

Bert's voice registers in his mind. Jack blinks up at him.

"You're spacin' out. You okay? I've finished."

He doesn't answer. Instead, he curls up on the kitchen chair, hugging his knees to his chest. He suddenly feels like crying, but he’s too _tired._

Bert’s saying something, but it’s muffled in his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut and thinks about nothing.

~

He opens his eyes at the sound of a plate being placed in front of him. He blinks a few times, like he’s waking up from a nap, but he didn’t sleep. Bert is pouring him a glass of water.

 _Sorry_ , Jack says, still half-curled up. He’s holding the pencil wrong but Bert doesn’t say anything about that.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” he says instead. He sits down, holding the box of medicine. Jack stares down at the sandwich on his plate. “I... I dunno what exactly you went through before I found you. But I think it’s normal to have a reaction like this? I’ve known a couple people who’ve lost their parents, too. Even... I lost my mum when I was around your age.”

_I’m sorry._

“Nah, it’s okay. I still had my father.” Bert opens up the medicine and drops a pill into Jack’s hand. “Not that he was any help other than feedin’ me and makin’ money. But hey, I got through it. I left home as soon as I could an’ now I’m here.”

He smiles, and Jack smiles, too.

“Now, take your medicine so you can get better. Then eat some lunch. You’re pretty small, kid,” he says.

 _I’ve always been small_ , Jack says.

“Well, you wanna get big and strong, don’t you?” Bert winks at him. Jack nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, there you go!”

~

Later that night, Bert’s sitting by the fire in the living room. He’s reading aloud so Jack can hear from where he’s perched by the window. There’s not much to see out there except a few people walking by and the slowly setting sun. Jack’s kneeling backwards on the chair and has his head rested on his arms, eyes big as he stares.

“And then the dirty rascal said—” Bert’s interrupted by the sound of a hand smacking itself on the cushions. He looks up to see Jack hitting the chair, trying to get his attention. “What’s wrong?”

Jack hops off the chair and stands by the window, flapping his hands. Bert raises his eyebrows and sets the book down. When he gets to the window, he chuckles, seeing what the kid’s so excited about.

It’s a lamplighter, bike parked near the base of the post as he climbs up his ladder. He lights the lamp and Jack starts bouncing up and down.

“That’s a leerie! You’ve seem ‘em before, haven’t you?” Bert asks. Jack shakes his head. “We can go out and meet him, if you like.”

The look on Jack’s face tells him that’s definitely what they’re going to do.

“Hi, Bert!” the leerie says cheerfully as they walk outside. “Oh, who’s this?”

He looks down at Jack, who has Bert’s jacket wrapped around his shoulders and is still flapping his hands a little.

“This is Jack! He’s stayin’ with me for a bit,” Bert says, not wanting to give out any context. “Jack, this is Louis.”

Jack waves. Bert and Louis go through small talk while Louis moves his things to the next lamp. Before he starts climbing up the ladder, Louis lets Jack hold his lamplighting pole.

“This is what I use to light the lamps,” Louis explains to a grinning Jack. “I only have to use it sometimes, when the lamps are bein’ troublesome.”

He continues to talk about his job, and Jack gets a warm, happy feeling in his chest that he’s never felt before. It feels like fire, but a nice kind of fire that makes his insides feel cozy. It feels like there’s a lamp in his heart, flickering to life.

“Oh,” Louis interrupts himself suddenly, hand on the lamp’s switch. The fire is already lit, brightening the street around them. “Must’ve turned it without realizing.”

“A repetitive job like this, probably happens often,” Bert says, something itching at the back of his mind. He turns to Jack, whose dark eyes are reflecting yellow-orange. “I’m a leerie sometimes, y’know. I’m mostly a sweep, but if they need any help, I can hop in!”

Jack looks so shocked and excited that Bert can’t help but laugh.

“Let’s head inside now, Louis has got plenty more lamps to light and we can’t be wastin’ his time,” he says, nodding to the door.

Jack waves goodbye to Louis and then hops up the stairs. Bert’s about to step inside when Louis calls his name.

“Bert?” he says, swinging a leg over his bike. “Hang onto that kid. He seems pretty special.”

“Yeah,” Bert says distractedly. “Yeah, I will.”

He closes the door behind him. As he passes the window, he glances at the lamp, burning strong in the dark. Then he looks to Jack, curled up half-asleep with the book in his hands. _I definitely will._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bert is such a dad i love him
> 
> fun fact: i took louis' name from "robert louis stevenson" who wrote the poem "the lamplighter." its a wonderful poem and i think it suits jack perfectly so you should read it
> 
> comments fuel my writing powers so you should definitely do that. also maybe even send an ask to my mpr sideblog @tripthelights

**Author's Note:**

> that was very sad and i promise it only gets happier from here
> 
> also yeah the excerpt in the summary is in chapter 2. you gotta wait a bit for that one


End file.
